


preferably when we're both blind drunk

by snsk



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, but all of these things, not quite angst, not quite fluff, not quite meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3849205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/pseuds/snsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is the boy I love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	preferably when we're both blind drunk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yungbabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yungbabe/gifts).



> Inspired by this post by miya, and dedicated to her with love: http://mama5sos.tumblr.com/post/117590413164/i-just-hope-that-one-day-preferably-when-were

You do not deserve my boy, but that's alright, because I don't either. The first time he kissed me it was on a giant wheel and the day was nearly over; I'd tried all day but couldn't summon up the courage to lean that last inch in and close the barely-there distance. "Hey, Phil," he said, when our cart started its slow descent. I turned to face him, and he kissed me. It wasn't when we were at the top, I should make a point of telling you. Timing was never his-- our strong point.

You don't deserve my boy, but here he is for the world to see. He shows you glimpses of what is really inside. It's dark, he warns you. Full of awkward cringeworthy moments! You'll love it. Click that button to subscribe if you haven't already. It took him a long time to reach the point where he was okay with people enjoying what he deemed broken. You laugh now because he twists his abyss into entertainment. Earns himself a living from the demons he's somewhat tamed.  I am proud of him. It doesn't mean you deserve him.

I am petty, perhaps. I am protective of my boy. He displays obsessive behavior over the mugs in the kitchen but he is still fifteen minutes late to any meeting with his brother. They were never very close. His brother never fought the same demons he battled for years. They were always just slightly off, wavelengths not quite aligned. His brother went camping in what passed for woods in their hometown. My boy did drama after school. It doesn't mean they don't love each other fiercely (my boy is incapable of any other kind of love) or that they don't meet up whenever his brother comes over. It just means my boy is punctually fifteen minutes late to each meeting.

He paces his room still. I wonder if that behavior will ever really stop, or if he will grow better at hiding it from me, even. I learned to let it worry me less. He swears to me it's just him, that it isn't a symptom of a bigger problem. I believe him. I do. The first time he stayed over, he slept the whole night through. He does that if you tire him out. Sex does it to him. Physical exercise, in general. His mind doesn't get to stress him out when his body does the work for the day. My boy. My own hypothesis. One thing I do know is that he will never truly hide those nights from me, even as he tries. It is not the walls or the floorboards I hear; it is the spaces in between the skittering thoughts. 

He is better at people now. More accurately: he is better at trying to be better at people. It is his job, but he is better because it is the job he chose. It is not about me, but I help by being there. He will not admit this to you. It is precious and rare that he admits it to me. 

There was a time when even I was an enemy to him. He doesn't apologise, but the very closest he gets is when he is referring to that period when I was almost completely shut off from him. I don't expect him to apologise. I know what my boy means when he says, it was a weird couple of years. I know what he's telling me when he says, nice of you to stick around. 

What else would you like to know? He leaves bills behind the kitchen counter sometimes. He lies to you when he feels you are not owed our truths. He is a complete brat when sick. He is capable of using sex as a weapon. He worries himself to the point of anxiety. He is defensive to the point of rudeness. He does not know how to love in a way that is not all-consuming. He has the potential of wildfire. He is a noisy firework, exploded too soon. 

Have I mentioned it? I love this boy. Have I not told you with every singing syllable? I have composed this symphony for him. You can only ever truly know you love someone when you've met their darkest, worst demon and it's invited you to tea. So my mother says. Dan's demons and mine play, docile as puppies, in the hybrid of a virtual reality we call our world. And still he is a thousand shifting works of art. He is a haunting Chinese opera I know all the lyrics to-- I do not speak Chinese. He is the despair I felt when the sun was setting and still I could not manage to kiss this lovely boy beside me, and he is the moment when his lips touched mine when the wheel started its descent. 

He is a disaster. Just like me. I adore him. Watch my words twist themselves into truths the world deems too ugly to air in public. I think they are beautiful. Multiplied together, they make up my boy. Time and time again, I have shown him how beautiful he is. You do not deserve to see the messiest, most disastrous cracks in the map of our world. I am privileged with that knowledge. I sing with that knowledge.  I hold those beautiful truths for this boy. Understand one thing, understand this: this is the boy I love.


End file.
